Laundry
by silvermangos
Summary: Drabbles concerning laundry and long periods of ranting, generally on the phone to an unsuspecting victim. Updated sporadically and sometimes regularly. No pairings. Just laundry and other Olympic sports.
1. Bloody hell

**Well, my Hetalia muse seems to be quite grounded. Which is unfortunate for my Avengers muse. Anyway, I was doing laundry, and suddenly, this popped in my head, and I just could not shake the image of England doing laundry while ranting on the phone. **

**So, I present you with ****_Laundry_****. **

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. Except perhaps the **_**République Française**_** shirt. But that too is only a perhaps. **

* * *

England sits in the laundry room, phone tucked under his ear as he moves clothes from the washing machine into the dryer.

"And then Francis decides to throw an arm around my shoulder – _the nerve _– and then he winks – _winks! – _at my bloody _prime minister_! And if that isn't embarrassing enough, the bloody git goes ahead and says, "Arthur, _cher_, I was just wondering if you'd done the laundry yet? _Parce que_ _vous savez combien j'aime cette chemise République Française, et j'ai vraiment, vraiment besoin de cette chemise pour demain soirée, et si vous ne l'avez pas fait la lessive, je vais avoir besoin de lancer une charge dès que nous rentrons à la maison." _And then he _sighs_! Dramatically! As if the new prime minister wasn't _already _looking at me funny and now he probably thinks that everyone I know is crazy, because Prussia came to say hello right before Francis showed up!"

England stands up and moves the phone to his other ear as he closes the dryer and starts it.

He sits down again and begins loading the unwashed clothes into the washing machine.

"Well, _yes_, Matthew, I _know _that he's been in Parliament for nine years now, and that he knows me quite well by now, but it was my first time meeting him as my boss! And he went and _ruined _it! You know, I asked him why it was so important to ask me about bloody _laundry_ at that precise moment, because, really, was his stupid frog shirt that bloody important and _do you know what that git did_? He just _laughed_! He _planned _the whole bloody thing for the _sole purpose_ of embarrassing me in front of my boss._"_

"My _French_? My dear Matthew, I most certainly do not speak that awful language."

"That was just- just- I just remember things well!"

"Of course I bloody well understood what he was saying!"

"...It was osmosis."

"Can we get off the bloody subject?!"

"What am I doing right now? Loading laundry. Why do you want to know?"

"No, I am most certainly _not _loading in that frog's shirt right now!"

England looks down, just to make sure.

Well, England is pretty sure that _he _doesn't own any _République Française_ shirts, and France only owns one as far as England knows.

...

Oh, bloody hell.

* * *

_**Parce que vous savez combien j'aime cette chemise République Française, et j'ai vraiment, vraiment besoin de cette chemise pour demain soirée et si vous ne l'avez pas fait la lessive, je vais avoir besoin de lancer une charge dès que nous rentrons à la maison. - **_**Because you know how much I love that **_**République Française**_** shirt, and I really, really need it for tomorrow evening and if you haven't done the laundry yet, I'll have to run a load once I get home. **

**Very, very confusing for only 351 words. I will clarify some major plot points. England and France attend a completely imaginary party to welcome the new British Prime Minister (which is kind of David Cameron; he joined Parliament about nine years before becoming Prime Minister) held on a Friday. France obviously does not do the load of laundry that he dramatically sighs about, so England ends up doing it Saturday afternoon while talking with Canada. **

**Why is England doing France's laundry? Well, my headcanon says that whenever France and England's bosses get fed up with their nations' fighting, they force the two to live together as punishment. **

**What is a **_**République Française**_** shirt? I have a couple of America shirts, like one with the flag on it, and one that just says AMERICA across the front. I'm pretty sure America isn't the only country to have shirts like this. Not positive, though. **

**The explanation is almost longer than the story itself. My A/N _is_ longer than the fic.  
**

**Short oneshot is short oneshot. Short oneshot ****_may _****become short twoshot with Mattie's side of the conversation. **

**Review! For a **_**République Française**_** shirt? Please? **


	2. Oh, maple

**Well! I got this one done pretty fast! Thanks to everyone who reviewed/favorited/followed this story! It made me squee :)  
**

**Does anyone else get warm fuzzy feels when they see how many people from other countries have read their fic? **

**I don't have much else to say here...macarons? **

**I want to make macarons. **

**Yup, I think I'm done now.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. Nothing, nothing, nothing. Not even my nonexistent macarons because they're nonexistent! :(**

* * *

Matthew is in the kitchen making pancakes. Prussia arrives at his house at 2 a.m. like clockwork every Sunday morning, and it is much, _much _easier to curb the..._enthusiastic _nation's appetite if he already has some pancakes ready.

He is not surprised when the phone rings. England, for all the times that he mistakes Canada for America, is surprisingly good about calling Canada every Saturday afternoon to catch up (and rant about whatever France has done in the past week).

"Hello, England!" he greets the other nation cheerfully. "How are you and France doing?"

England's screeching response consists mainly of cursing France and everyone affiliated with him or his socks in any way, shape, or form.

"Maple." Matthew says, frankly rather frightened at England's uncharacteristic random outburst. Well, not quite uncharacteristic. Just random. And very very loud.

"Oh, no need to apologize, it's quite alright. I was just wondering how the event for your new prime minister went?"

"Oh. _That_ was what you were ran-_talking _about before?"

Matthew learned never to call England's hour long "conversations" rants after England poured salt into every bottle of maple syrup that Matthew owned.

"It didn't go well?"

Matthew listens to England's story as he flips a few more pancakes onto the plate that Gilbert had declared "The Awesome Plate".

Gilbert refused to eat from anything else, and he had to have the "Awesome Fork" and the "Awesome Bottle of Maple Syrup" on hand unless he wanted to deal with a rant akin to England's France rants.

"England, your new prime minister has been in Parliament for nine years. I'm sure he doesn't think you're crazy."

Actually, Matthew was quite sure that England's prime minister was absolutely convinced that England was crazy, but that had less to do with France and more to do with "Flying Mint Bunny".

"You know, England, your French is actually quite good."

Matthew freezes. He hadn't been paying too much attention to what England was actually saying, except that France had been talking about laundry and his ___République Française_ shirt (really, France _had _to let that shirt go) in front of England's prime minister, and England had been talking in French _it was just a thought that had crossed his mind_ and he had just said it while flipping a pancake and oh maple Canada was a dead nation and no one would come to his funeral and the pancake he just flipped would be his last-

...

He had expected England's response to be a seventeen-hour rant after which he would arrive in Canada's kitchen with a giant machete.

...

Oh maple. Now he had to think of a response.

"But England! You spoke some really good French when you were talking about what France said!"

Stupid stupid stupid oh no what was going through his head it must be the pancake fumes he had mentioned _France _and _good _in the same _sentence_-

"But then how did you understand what he said?"

Why couldn't he get off of the subject?

Maybe his polar bear slipped something into his morning maple syrup.

Or perhaps it was sleep deprivation? He would have to talk to Gilbert.

If he lived that long.

"Then you _must _understand French!"

Matthew is scribbling his will down as fast as he can while packing pancakes and talking on the phone.

He decides that having Canada turned into New Prussia was better than it becoming an American colony.

Kumakunga and Gilbird could live happily ever after.

"Uh huh. It was _osmosis_."

He gives all his clothes to France. They are pretty much the same size, anyway.

Excepting his pink pumps. He gives those to Poland.

Cuba gets his ice-cream machine.

...

Change the subject? This must be a trick.

"What are you doing right now?"

His houseplants could go to Lars. And maybe his sound system, too.

Alfred would get nothing.

Except _maybe _that lifetime pass to McDonald's that Matthew won a few years ago.

_Maybe_.

Oh, who was he kidding? Of course he was giving it to Alfred.

...

_Laundry_?

"Would you happen to be loading in France's shirt right now?"

Matthew hears the dial tone and takes his pancakes to go hide in his America/apocalypse bunker.

* * *

**This was probably just as confusing as the last one. Why is Canada saying all of these things that are sure to get him killed? I don't know. Kumajirou took over his speaking functions? He's finally gone crazy? Or perhaps it _is _the pancake fumes?**

**I have no idea. I just liked writing ohmapleimgoingtodie!Canada. **

**I actually have another version written where Canada just liked being evil, but I didn't like it as much as this one. **

**I hope this was as good as you guys hoped it would be!**

**Hmm. Short A/N this time. Review! For an Awesome Plate? **


	3. He did WHAT?

**I expected this to be written much earlier. Sorry :( I had this mush in my head (mostly revolving around France in an apron) but it was too mushy and eventually it all turned into to banana bread and got eaten. So...no France in apron in this one. Or in the next one. But do not fear. Someone will appear in an apron. Eventually. **

**Thank you for all the wonderful reviews and favorites! I squeed embarrassingly. **

**I don't know if this one is as good as the last two. But I tried?**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. Nothing, nothing, nothing. _Rien_. Damn right I said it in French. **

* * *

France hauls the basket of clean, unfolded laundry out of the laundry room and into the living room.

He sets the basket down and goes to pick up the ringing phone.

"Oh, _bonjour_, Alfred! Arthur's not here right now. He ran out of the house yelling something about deceit and revenge about an hour ago. He does it every Thursday morning. You should know that."

"Oh~ You wish to speak with _moi_?"

"But then you would still be quite alive, _non_?"

France holds the phone away from his ear at the jumbled shrieking noise that pours out of the phone.

"I see. _Juste u__n moment, s'il vous plait_."

France sits down and puts the phone on speaker, dumping the laundry onto the floor and beginning to fold.

"What was it that you were saying, Alfred? Something about tea and death?"

"How did you manage to feed _all_ of his tea to Mathieu's polar bear _on accident_?"

"I fail to see what that has to do with anything right now."

"Fine! How did you manage to feed all of his tea to Mathieu's polar bear _and Gilbert's pet bird_ on accident?"

"Denmark?"

"Umm...let me think..._n__on. Non, non, non. _ You know what Arthur does when he's angry, Alfred. He cooks. And who is living with him? _Moi_. Who will be forced to eat his food? _Moi. __Je suis très désolé, _Alfred, but I value my life more than yours."

_..._

"_Quoi? Il a fait quoi_?" Francis's voice is cool and extremely scary.

"Ah. Well. _Il va __allez être très, très mort, très, très __bientôt_."

France puts all the folded clothes back into the basket (it would be a terrible waste if those clothes got unfolded, after all) and calmly goes into the kitchen in search of his machete.

* * *

_**Il a fait quoi? - **_**He did what? **

_**Il va allez **__être très, très mort, très, très _**_bientôt_ -**** He is going to be very, very dead, very, very soon. **

**I really like writing these :) I'll probably keep updating these as long as my muse cooperates. And I uploaded Alfred's side of the conversation too, because this one makes almost no sense like this.  
**

**Why did I not just write this like a normal conversation, you wonder? **

**Because I didn't want to. Yeah. **

**Review! For a polar bear and a Gilbird hyped up on tea? **


	4. Help me, young man!

**So. Not much to say here. Very unusual. **

**Disclaimer: Well, I already said it in the past three chapters. In two different languages. You can refer to those. **

* * *

Alfred taps France's numbers onto the glass screen of his thirty-seventh smartphone frantically.

"France? France?"

"I know that! I need to talk to _you_!

"NOT LIKE _THAT_! IGGY'S HERE RIGHT NOW SCREAMING ABOUT TEA AND I AM A DEAD NATION! DEAD, YOU HEAR ME! DEADER THAN IGGY'S PUNK ROCK PHASE!"

"**FRANCE. HE'S IN MY _HOUSE_. ****AND THERE'S NO TEA AND MATTIE'S GONE INTO CRAZY-HOCKEY MODE AND THE CREEPY ALBINO DUDE IS HERE AND HE'S _LOOKING _AT ME! DON'T YOU UNDERSTAND? TEA POLAR BEAR DEATH." **

Alfred attempts to calm down. The cramped cupboard isn't helping.

"I accidentally fed all of Arthur's tea to Mattie's polar bear and the creepy albino dude's bird."

"And the creepy albino dude's bird. Don't forget the bird."

"It means that instead of two homicidal nations after me, I now have _three_. Apparently, polar bears and birds don't take well to eating seventy tons of tea."

"Well, I was being quiet, minding my own business like always, and then suddenly the creepy albino dude burst into my house saying something about Germany and tea, and you know how me and Germany are like, bros, so I had to go check it out, and did you know that England and Germany have tea together every Tuesday afternoon? I didn't. But anyway, apparently Denmark stole all their tea and they thought it was me, so me and Denny went to hide out in Mattie's place with the tea and his polar bear was eating pancakes with the creepy albino dude's bird, and then Germany came in so we locked the door and the windows and eventually all the pancakes were gone and it was either the tea or us, dude, soooo..."

America sighs, and peers out the crack between the cupboard doors.

"Ah, crap. FRANCE! YOU BETTER BE LEAVING YOUR HOUSE THIS INSTANT, YOUNG MAN. COME HELP ME. NOW."

Well, drastic times called for drastic measures.

"Arthur tore up that shirt with your flag on it and flushed it down the toilet."

"Yeah, and he was cackling evilly the whole time, too!"

America lets out a breath in relief when he hears the dial tone.

* * *

**I hope it made sense. I imagine that America channels angry mom when he's really freaked out. **

**Review! :)  
**


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